No Regrets
by imperfectromance
Summary: Sam knows something up, but, then, Sam always knows. And Bobby doesn't help, the way he keeps giving Dean the stink eye and making Dean think that maybe, just maybe, the angel had told the old hunter. M for Safety?


**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sammy, or Bobby. Everything belongs to Eric Kripke because Eric Kripke is God.**

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><p>It was an accident, of course. Or at least that's what Dean keeps telling himself because it makes him feel better about it all. Sam knows something up, but, then, Sam always knows. And Bobby doesn't help, the way he keeps giving Dean the stink eye and making Dean think that maybe, <em>just maybe<em>, the angel had told the old hunter. But no, when Dean sees the man next, he asks with his eyes and the angel just shakes his head in a slight, unnoticeable way.

It wasn't even important. Not really. Dean can only remember bits and pieces now. The way Castiel had looked pinned to the iron wall, hair sticking up in random places around Dean's hand. The way his shirt was scrunched up to his chest, showing Dean his vessel's chest. Dean didn't want to admit how he loved seeing Castiel arch up off the wall, pressing into his own chest, when he had sucked just right on the pulse point on his neck. He didn't want to admit the way he loved how Castiel groaned when he licked up the length of his neck. He still remembered the sound they had both made when it was all over, a mixture of pain and pleasure, and it haunted him.

The only reminder of it all was the purple bruises on Cas's face and neck. Dean had gripped his jaw too tight in the passion, and had sucked a little too hard in places on his neck. Sam had stared, wide-eyed at the lovebites, but said nothing.

Dean tried to concentrate on finding a way to kill Lucifer without sacrificing Sam. How could they even think he'd okay with that, killing his Sammy? Even Cas had tried to talk him into it, which might have been what lead to round two, but, no, Dean wasn't going think about that, either.

Castiel was angry. Beyond angry, even, but not quite pissed off. He scared Sam and Bobby, making them not argue with him or poke fun at him. It didn't stop Dean. He always argued, thinking that maybe if they argued, they wouldn't do anything they'd regret. Again.

Sam was talking to Bobby about it once. How he was amazed Castiel got away with talking to Dean the way he did, and viceversa. Bobby assumed it was because of the "bond" they shared, whatever the fuck that meant. Dean didn't think they had a bond. He was mostly just pissed off and wanted the angel to leave him the hell alone. And he started drinking, more than usual. And, even though he knew it was a dick move, he started bringing home chicks when he _knew_ Castiel would be sitting at Bobby's dinner table, trying to fight off whatever inner demons he had. Sometimes it hurt Dean, to see the hopeful look slide off and have pure pain and jealousy replace it. He didn't think it looked right on the angel's face, but he didn't say anything. Just smirked at the three men and carried the girl up to his room.

The tenth time is when Cas finally gets pissed. Nobody else is home, Sam has went into town on a supply run and Bobby has went to find a couple of hunters who didn't hate their guts, and Cas is waiting in the same chair he always was when Dean stumbles in, drunk as hell, with a slightly-less drunk twenty-something year old girl on his arm. Dean doesn't even realize Cas is sitting there, though, and he just pushes the girl up the stairs before following. But then Cas follows five minutes later.

He pushes the door open with strength he didn't even know he still had, scaring the poor, naked girl right off the bed and off of Dean. The hunter swears loudly, pulling the sheets up to cover his dick, and Castiel just laughs coldly because he's had that particular piece of flesh in his mouth once before and now the owner thinks he should be modest. He pulls the girl down the stairs and pushes her out the door, all the while Dean is following and yelling.

They just stand there then, both breathing hard and glaring at each other and, suddenly, Castiel remembers that old saying. _If looks could kill..._

They don't talk. They're too dysfunctional to talk, and they have this silent, painful agreement that they will never, ever talk about those nights the tension was too much for either to bare.

So when Castiel pushes Dean against the wall, he isn't all that surprised. Their kiss is all teeth and tongue and biting and Dean's pretty sure that's _not_ saliva travelling down his chin. But that doesn't matter because he feels Castiel's lips move downward and his hands move upward and then his lips have left him for a fleeting moment to look up at Dean, and Dean doesn't like the way Castiel is trying to communicate with his eyes. They don't talk. So Dean moves in this fast, graceful way that you can only obtain from being a hunter your whole life and flips them around, Dean pinning the angel against the wall this time.

They don't even think about the chance of Sam or Bobby walking in as Dean pops the button on Castiel's pants and Castiel unties the sheets from around his waist. Things slow down, much to their surprise, and Castiel finds himself being led up the stairs, his mouth still pressed against Dean's. He'd figured it'd be fast, slightly painful, against the wall, just like all the other times. But no, he's being led past his room, Sam's room, Bobby's room, and he feels Dean reach a hand out to push open his own bedroom door and Castiel wonders for a second about how it got shut, but then he's being pushed down onto the sheets and he's getting pissed at that because, fuck, Dean was just screwing some girl on those exact, uncleaned sheets and he pushes Dean far enough away that he can stand back up and pull Dean down onto the carpet. He doesn't try to be on top because their relationship - or whatever the hell they were - didn't work that way so he just pulls Dean on top of him and presses their lips together again and he fights back a sigh because, fuck, he feels so good.

Dean pulls Castiel's boxers off quickly then pushes his shirt over his head and, suddenly, the angel feels a bit uncomfortable because they'd never been completely naked before. Pants were always pulled to ankles and shirts were always bunched up at the chest, but they never actually came off. But then Dean's lips are on his hipbones and he relaxes and shuts his eyes when those lips go further down.

It's longer than the first time and slower than the second time, and Castiel doesn't have a growing feeling of regret in his stomach. Dean is curled behind him, hand slung over his waist and legs tangled between Cas's. He doesn't even move to clothe himself when he hears the front door squeak open and Sam calls for his brother. Sam doesn't come up, too afraid of what position he might find Dean in and Castiel laughs silently because he's pretty sure the younger Winchester would never think Dean would be curled around an angel, naked as the day he was born.

When Dean wakes up later, Cas is gone. He's laying alone on the rug, his comforter thrown on top of him carefully and he just stares at the folded piece of paper that lays on the floor beside him, his name wrote out in a messy, choppy handwriting and he's wondering how long it's been since Castiel had written something.

He picks it up and unfolds it, already getting ready for the rejection and regret, but his breath catches in his teeth when he sees the words and he kind of has the urge to laugh because it reminds him of that silly Katy Perry song Sam is so fond of, but he knows it's not the right kind of moment for laughter.

_No regrets._

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><p><em>Oh, what? I'm back? Yeah. School kind of owns my soul and we have finals coming up and it's just all ROAR and we're flooding up here and it's kind of terrible so, in between my sand-bagging efforts, I've been working on this and I don't really like it, but ehh. I'm also wondering when you guys are gonna get tired of me chickening out when it comes to sex scenes, but I've never really been comfortable - or good - writing anything beyond a make out session. Probably because I've never gone beyond that, but that's a bit too personal for me to get into, right? Right. Anywaaaays, enjoy this. And please excuse any grammarspelling mistakes. My mind is too fast for my hands sometimes._


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